


Everett Braxton and the Life of a Not-So-Normal Wizard

by ForgetfulHufflefuck



Series: ForgetfulHufflefuck's Razor Scooter to the Ankle-Type Fics [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, House-elf magic, Powerful Magic, Pre-Hogwarts, Squibs, Wandless Magic, please make it your own!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgetfulHufflefuck/pseuds/ForgetfulHufflefuck
Summary: As part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Braxton family is horrified by the idea of producing a Squib. So when their youngest, Everett Braxton shows no sign of Accidental Magic, they put him in the place he belongs: in the Dungeons with the filthy House-Elves.With the new addition to their ranks, the House Elves of Braxton Manor grudgingly train Everett in the arts of Elf Magic and subservience. (ish)Work is abandoned.
Series: ForgetfulHufflefuck's Razor Scooter to the Ankle-Type Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887661





	1. Prologue

46-year-old Lilian Braxton did not want any more children. She did not _need_ any more children. Already, she had birthed three beautiful heirs and one daughter, and thought that that was quite enough for her, thank you very much. But be that as it may, the Fates were far too busy to listen to her wishes alone. And so came the final addition to her now-family-of-seven.

Everett Carlisle Braxton came into the world at an ungodly hour of the morning, on the fifth of December, 1980. Borne to two highly-regarded, pureblooded parents, everyone expected him to turn out likewise. So it came as a great surprise, then, to family, friends and acquaintances, that he was the very opposite to his parents. Where their hair was black, his was bright white. Where their eyes had been fiercely brown, his were a radiant green. And where Lilian and Cassius had a magical core… Everett seemed to not.

The first to notice this had been Victoria, the eldest child and only daughter, when she had accidentally dropped baby Evie while going up the stairs one evening. She was startled but not dreadful as he slipped past her arms, because every witch knows that accidental magic always saves children before too much damage is inflicted. But when the four-month-old _did_ simply drop, smack his head on the corner of a stair and lose consciousness, Victoria knew something was very, terribly wrong. Having had her own boy a few months before Everett was born, Victoria was horror-struck at the sight before her.

Gently picking Everett up, a small trace of blood smearing her trembling hand as she cradled his head, Victoria, panic-stricken, screamed at the top of her lungs, “Mother—Everett! St Mungo’s! _Now_!” before promptly Flooing to the hospital, baby Evie clutched firmly to her bosom.

Upon arriving, a group of three nurses surrounded the poor older sister as she shakenly relayed the events of the past few minutes. The foremost one, a blonde named Sally, asked Victoria to follow her to a room down the corridor. She complied, nervously handing Evie over to a red-headed nurse who introduced herself as Cherida. The third nurse, another blonde, walked along beside Victoria, muttering reassurances as they went.

The room turned out to look like any ordinary hospital room until Sally _Reducio_ ’d the bed and charmed the walls a periwinkle blue. Taking a seat on a stiff chair at the bedside, Victoria watched as the nurses laid baby Evie down and cast diagnostic charm after diagnostic charm and shared look of sombre germaneness.

“What? What is it? Will Evie be okay?”

Two of the nurses cast their wands back down to the baby, murmuring incantations. The red-head walked towards Victoria, seeming to take hours on the way over. “Madame Goyle, do you go by?” After a nod from Victoria, she continued, looking anywhere but at the desperate Victoria, “Er— Madame Goyle. Are you aware that your brother is a squib?”

Victoria stared dumbly back. “A— A squib? Are you certain?” The nurse finally looked her in the eye.

“Yes, Madame Goyle. I am truly, truly sorry. I realise how hard this must be for you, especially for a lady of such pure bloodlines…”

Victoria’s apprehension faded, shifting into disgust; into shame; into outrage. A million thoughts whizzed like a blizzard throughout her mind, the most prominent of which was a distinct urge to be alone.

“Get out. Please.”

The nurse abandoned her apologetic visage for a surprised look. “I beg your pardon?”

“ _Out_. All of you,” Victoria said. She looked down at her hands, ashamed at having to say, “I will not have you fixing a _squib_!”

Victoria’s heart raced, her breathing suddenly restricted. She couldn’t think of a worse outcome for this hospital visit. Having a squib in the family was the equivalent of having someone close to you murder people you care about; you want them out of your life, away from your family and friends—you are horrified to be in any way associated with them.

Victoria, unaware that she was speaking aloud, mumbled, “Evie would be better off dead.”

The nurses all tensed, and attempted to put up a protest against leaving: “But he’s still your brother, Mrs Goyle”; “He’s just a child”; “Oh, you must give him a chance!”—but Victoria would hear none of it. She raised her wand at the nurses, suddenly defensive, “ _Please_. I said _out!_ ”

The nurses fell quiet, raising their hands in an attempt to calm the situation, but Victoria flicked her wand, indicating towards the corridor. And finally, the nurses succumbed.

With the newfound silence, Victoria began to calm her breathing. She looked over at baby Evie, profound sorrow—and disgust at feeling the sorrow—clouding through her core. 

She must think clearly.

Her mother could arrive at any moment.

Lilian Braxton would banish Victoria from the Manor if she were the one to bring her the bad news. But if Victoria didn’t tell her, her mother would find out anyway, since she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to take care of baby Ev— the _squib_ without acting oddly. And on top of that, those three nurses might contact her mother.

She would inevitably find out. There was no way of stopping it on such short notice.

Victoria felt a fresh wave of hopelessness settle on her shoulders like a heavy blanket.

_Oh!_ And then, there was the issue of her father, Cassius. _What was she to do?_ Victoria daren’t tell her father herself, or she might not leave the conversation without several _Diffindo_ s to her body.

She would have to leave it up to her mother. She was the only one who could keep Cassius in check. And then, her brothers, Marcus, Larkin and Fletcher, would find out from their father, and they were sure to react badly to the news. Victoria, despite her disgust and shame towards her infant brother, couldn’t let the boys hurt him. He was, after all, still only a child; she had to give him a chan—

The door to the room slammed open, a frantic looking Lilian bursting through.

“Victoria! Oh, how is my baby?” She gasped.

Victoria, unable to answer, looked over at her squib brother, profound shame lingering in her throat. Her mother followed her gaze, “Oh Evie, my sweet, what’s happened with you? My baby…”

Victoria could not bear the cooing. Steeling herself and standing up from her chair, she said, “Mother, if I may interrupt…”

“Yes?” Lilian answered, wizened eyes slightly frantic.

Victoria cleared her throat, unaware how to approach the topic with her mother so emotional. “Er— er, Mother… Everett—he’s…”

“Yes, Victoria? Spit it out,” she exhorted.

“He...He’s a squib.” Victoria croaked out.

Her mother’s gaze sharpened. “I do beg your pardon?”

Victoria looked to the floor, unable to keep eye contact. After hesitating for too long, her mother demanded, “Victoria Lilian Braxton, repeat your words at once!”

Victoria choked, looking anywhere but at her mother. Despite being a grown woman, Victoria could never quell her fear of the bloodline’s matriarch. So drinking in the calming blue of the walls and the soft light of dusk settling through the windows, she took in a deep breath.

“Mother… Everett’s a squib. He’s isn’t magical. I— I know it’s unexpected; that squibs only come from the weaker families. I know you—you must think there’s been some sort of mistake—” She cut her ramblings short when she noticed her mother stepping closer to her. A hand grasped her wrist in a vice-like grip.

“Victoria, you will not speak of this to anyone.” Victoria took in a sharp breath, surprised at the turn, “Not even your brothers. If Everett really is a squib… No. Your father must find out about this on his own. We cannot be the ones to tell him.” She spoke through her teeth, “Do you understand?”

Victoria gulped and nodded a surprised yes, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Yes. Yes, Mother. I understand.” Her mother’s gaze softened for a moment when she looked at the hopeless, peacefully sleeping Everett.

“We will take him home now; act as if nothing happened. You will return to the Goyle residence and not visit us again until your brothers are back from Hogwarts. I will send you an owl if your father finds out before then.” Lilian looked back down her nose at Everett and muttered a few healing charms. “Alright. Let's away. Everett’s healed enough.” She picked her baby up, surveying him at arm’s length before sighing and placing him on her hip, with an uneasy tilt to her lips.

And with that, mother and daughter walked side by side in silence to the hospital’s Floo Hall, briskly signing Everett out and Flooing back to the Manor.


	2. Resentful Betrayals

Four years later, Everett was now nearly five years old, and as he approached such a grown-up age, he felt himself maturing by the day.

He always knew he was growing up fast because he mastered the art of reading basic textbooks when he was only two-and-a-half years old, and that, he was told, was quite the achievement. Since then, he had progressed onto bigger- and bigger-boy books, on topics spanning from potion-making to the mind magics like Legilimency and Occlumency, both of which he was quite fond because they helped him read people and figure out intentions and find loopholes to get what he wanted.

These were skills he had acquired and practiced with his father, Cassius, because they both liked those sorts of things—reading people like books, he was told, would get him very far in life, because when you already knew about what people tried to hide from you, you were only a few choice words away from success. Sometimes, to practise just that (although Everett was never allowed to tell anyone about it), Everett’s father would bring him to special meetings with people with funny tattoos on their arms that they sometimes covered up and sometimes didn’t.

Those were the times that Everett was sure he had learnt something wrong, because from what he observed, these funny people with the tattoos did absolutely not have good intentions, but his father, who was never, ever wrong, told him that those who hadn’t fled the group out of cowardice still had the _best_ , most _noble_ of intentions. So Everett, being the clever big boy that his father always told him he was, seared each of his memories watching these funny people, into his memory, and played and replayed them in his mind, because he was sure, with how much he was progressing, that he would soon understand why his father was right.

Cassius Braxton, after all, was the most intelligent and noble Pureblood around. Everett knew this because that was what some of those funny tattooed guests told him when they came around for their very important and very secret meetings, and he could tell that they really meant what they said.

And so, when Everett had a very big and very sore tumble down the stairs one evening, he was sure he had to be missing something again when his father, who sported a wild look of betrayal, stood next to his wife and muttered things about “a Squib” and “a disgrace to our name,” all while glancing from Everett’s teary eyes to his broken arm.

“Father, it hurts,” Everett called to him.

Cassius cast another glance at his son, then muttered to his wife Lilian something that sounded like a very angry “How long have you known?”

Everett’s mother hesitated for several long moments before reluctantly replying.

Then echoed the sharp sound of a smack.

: : :

Everett didn’t remember much about what had happened next, but he did remember that his father had quickly mended his arm—for which he was thankful—but immediately after began noisily and quite frighteningly blasting the portraits on the walls around them. Everett was very confused and more than a little worried.

Everett’s ever-assuring mother tried to calm her husband like she normally did, attempting to lead the burly man into another room. But unusually, she was pushed to the floor, where she hit her head with a resounding thump and lay ever so still. Everett remembers hurriedly crawling over to where his unmoving mother lay, and touching a shaking hand to her cheek. As he did so, he realised that he sort of had an idea of what this whole kerfuffle was about, but didn’t quite understand why it made him the enemy. But just as that thought formed in his mind, he was yanked away by the back of his collar, and thrown sideways into a wall.

He then remembered little more than flashes of memories and emotions; the most prominent recurrences of which were desperate confusion, hurt, and above all, pain.

The pain started as quite a jarring blow to his jaw, which didn’t hurt all that much until a couple moments after it was inflicted because he was so startled. He then felt very dizzy and very muddled, and had a bit of trouble keeping his eyes focused.

“ _Diffindo!_ ”

Just as Everett’s vision started to clear, he felt a sharp tug on his leg, which became very warm and, “ _Ow!_ Father, what did you—”

Everett gasped. Another searing tug. More stinging.

And more and more and more, on his back, on his cheek, on his brow, and, “Father,” he sobbed, curling into a tight ball, “ _Stop—please!_ ”

His body was so very warm and so very painful and so very _wet_ , and—was that _blood?_ Why was there so much— _ow! Father_ — _Oh…_

The last thing to register in Everett’s mind before he collapsed with a horrible feeling of _Danger!_ was throbbing, white hot agony emitting from every inch of his still-only-4-year-old body.

: : :

Everett regained consciousness on a cold and hard floor, his nostrils stinging from the potent smell of mold.

Breathing hurt him. Far too much to be normal. His throat was dry and rasping, but worst of all was the skin around his torso which pulled sharply on the cuts littering his frame, even when he took only shallow breaths. He felt a soft cloth gliding over some of the lesions on his leg, which hurt a lot more than the cuts on his other leg, but he couldn’t bring himself to do any more than groan groggily.

And beneath the pain that engulfed his body as if in fire, Everett was very, very tired.

His eyelids were quite stiff to open, and felt like they had been glued shut, but Everett made himself blink and blink. He couldn’t bear to bring his sore arms up to rub out from his vision an odd red sheen which his foggy mind dully recognised as blood, so he figured fresh tears might be able to wash some of it away.

Once he had mustered up the courage to look around (despite everything being slightly pink), Everett recognised that he was in a sort of dungeon that he’d only visited once before: the Braxton House-Elf den.

Why on earth would he be down here?

As he became more aware with each passing second, more and more questions arose in the young boy's mind: Where was his father? Was he still angry at him? Why did he cut Everett up so much? Why did he hurt _all over_? Why—

A particularly nasty sting from his foot made Everett jolt up, which he immediately regretted doing, right before he realised that he was staring straight into the eyes of an apologetic-looking Trixie—his personal House-Elf.

“Trixie!” He gasped out, his voice raspy. He coughed a few times, wincing each time, “Oh, Trixie, I hurt.”

“Master Everett—Trixie knows.” she squeaked out sympathetically in her classic House-Elf voice, “Trixie is being patching you up and is being hoping to find some pain-relief potion for Master Everett as soon as Trixie is finished.”

Everett shuddered a sigh, “ _Please Trixie_ ,” he whimpered, small tears falling down his cheeks “I’m _so sore_. I need the pain potion now. _Please_.”

Trixie opened her mouth to dismiss and soothe him, but upon seeing the desperate look in Everett’s eye, she shut her mouth and nodded before disappearing with a resounding _crack!_

Everett winced at the sound, but decided he needed to sit up to relieve the wounds on his dorsal side, if only for a few minutes. Although he didn’t feel like it at the moment, Everett knew he would have to at least act like a big, brave boy for this. So he grit his teeth and pulled his arms up ever so slowly until his elbows bent so much that he could feel some cuts splitting open and bleeding again. He braced himself as he lay his hands flat on the floor and pushed on his trembling arms. A frail, guttural cry tore from his throat.

Backside sliding like sandpaper on the cold stone floor and tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, Everett pulled himself upright.

Shuddering breaths racked his body and he closed his eyes, while regaining his strength. Everett knew he was cut up pretty badly, but now that he was awake and his wounds had started healing, he couldn’t tell if the cuts hurt _more_ than when they were first inflicted or not. It was a different sort of pain now, though. It was no longer as hot as it was viciously stinging.

At first when Everett looked downwards, through the haze of his tears, he didn’t notice the state of his clothing, but once he had blinked a few times, he barely recognised his robes.

They were absolutely shredded.

Beneath each tear lay stinging, angry crimson slashes covered by a layer of healing paste, each one caused by his father.

His _father_ , who he loved and who loved him. His father who was never wrong and who was the most intelligent and noble Pureblood around. His father who enjoyed punishing everyone but him because he was his special son.

Was Everett really such a shame that his father could turn on him in just an instant? Was he too clumsy? He knew he took a few very little tumbles every week, but surely it wasn’t that bad. He tried to avoid tripping over but it couldn’t really be helped. Surely his father wasn’t upset about that... right?

No.

Everett didn’t think that that could be the cause. ...So what could it have been? He hadn’t done anything terribly naughty that he was aware of, but—‘Squib’; he had heard his father say the word ‘Squib’ earlier on. Everett didn’t quite know what it meant, but he did know that that was something very bad because that was something his father uttered with a very ugly sneer on his lips.

 _Crack!_ Everett jumped, immediately wincing.

“Sorry, Everett!” the House Elf exclaimed upon seeing him tense up, “Trixie is being back with the pain potions for you, Sir!” The little Elf scrambled over to Everett’s side and sat on her knees. She uncorked the bottle and Everett, with another little wince, tilted his head back and opened up his mouth.

His first reaction to the potion was a gag. He’d never had a pain potion like this before, so he didn’t quite know what to expect, but _my, oh my_ , was it _foul!_

He forced himself to gulp it down though. Trixie stroked his hair as he righted himself and swallowed down the residue left in his mouth. He coughed a couple times.

Then he started to go numb.

“Trixie?” he asked a little anxiously, “Is this supposed to happen? Why can’t I feel my tummy?”

Trixie shushed him, assuring him that it was fine and that he should lie back down and relax. So he did, and Trixie went back to smearing paste on the leftover wounds on his leg.

After about ten minutes of a drowsy Everett falling in and out of sleep, he woke up as his wounds had started stinging again—though not nearly as badly as before.

His Elf sighed sympathetically, “Trixie is being sorry for the discomfort, Everett. Trixie won’t be being too much longer.”

Everett relaxed back down, scrunching his eyes as much as he could before his face started to hurt.

“Please tell Trixie if Trixie is being hurting you too much, Everett.”

“You’re okay, Trixie… But, er, can I ask you something?”

Trixie hummed in consent, large eyes flicking up briefly.

“Why am I down _here_?”

Trixie gently lay Everett’s foot back down and got up from her knees, “Master Everett—”

“—Just Everett, Trixie. Please; we’re alone.”

“...Everett,” Trixie walked cautiously to where Everett lay his head and sank to her knees again before unexpectedly and abruptly bursting into tears.

“Oh Everett, Trixie is so sorry! This is all Trixie’s fault! If Trixie had just—”

“—Trixie, no, stop!—” Everett gasped.

“—Maybe Master Everett would—” she bawled.

“Trixie! It’s okay!” Everett got out, despite the situation being anything _but_ okay. Trixie then looked back Everett, wiping her wrinkly nose as she sniffled, “I still don’t really understand why everything’s happened but I know it couldn’t possibly be your fault!”

Trixie’s breath hitched, but she nodded in relief, tears still dribbling down from her bulgy eyes.

“Okay,” Everett nodded his head softly before wincing, “so d’you know what happened? Why’s…” Everett teared up himself, the rest of his skin burning again, “Why’s Father so angry with me? And what’s a Squib?”

His head spun for a few moments, and Trixie took one of Everett’s hands in hers, “I’m hurting a lot again,” he whispered. And then, everything being what it was, he broke down into sobs.

Trixie cooed softly, rubbing his hand in a motherly way while tears slid down his lathered-up cheeks into his ears and hair.

Everett cried and cried and cried until he had no tears left, and even then he heaved a few more tearless sobs for good measure—all while suffering from the now only slightly-dulled pain of his movements.

Trixie kept ahold of his hand and offered him a piece of gauze in place of a tissue. “There, there,” she cooed, “is Everett being feeling better?”

“I’m really tired.”

“Trixie’s being sorry to hear that. Would Everett like some biscuits to be gaining back Everett’s strength?”

Everett nodded and Trixie disapparated before quickly returning with tea and biscuits, as well as a chocolate frog. Everett thanked her and set about munching the biscuits, saving the chocolate for last because that was his favourite.

“Is Everett being ready to hear the answers to Everett’s questions now?” Everett nodded again. “Well…” Trixie hesitated, looking past Everett, before spewing out “MasterCassiuswasbeingfeelingyouunworthyofbeingawizardandsoMasterCassiusbanishedyoutobeingaHouseElf!”

Everett blinked, “What?”

Trixie looked apologetic, eyes cast downwards. She sighed again. “Master Cassius was being feeling that Everett was being too unworthy of remaining part of the Noble and Righteous Braxton family, so,” Trixie scoffed, “Master Cassius _demoted_ Everett to the role of a House Elf.”

Both of them paused.

“But the work of a House Elf is being very noble indeed! Trixie thinks that this is being rather a promotion than a demotion if Everett is being coming from the _Braxton_ family!”

Everett stayed silent, not quite wrapping his head around this news. It was utterly unpredictable, and seemed such a random thing for his father to do. Why make Everett a House Elf? That was a completely different species!

Everett shifted where he lay, pain building where his now-shallow cuts touched the ground.

“This must be some sort of power play,” Everett had deduced. But why?

“What’s a Squib, Trixie?” Everett asked for seemingly the hundredth time, his patience wearing thin in his duress.

Trixie brought her other waxy hand atop his, enveloping it.

“A Squib is being a non-magical wizard—”

“—So like a Muggle?” Everett interrupted, which he immediately felt a bit bad for.

Trixie sighed, “Everett is close, but no. A Squib is said to be being brought deep, deep shame to a magical family, like the noble bloodline of Braxton.” Trixie closed her bulgy eyes and shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Trixie does not believe Everett is being bringing shame to the family name. If anything, Everett is being the kindest Braxton Trixie has been worked for in all of Trixie's ninety-four years working for the Braxtons!”

Everett smiled weakly, but then remembered his new ‘position’. A House Elf was considered far beneath any respectable witch or wizard. This meant that, by ‘demoting’ Everett to a position of power far below that of a ‘fourth son’, his father would be able to cruelly exploit ‘House Elf Everett’s’ inability to disobey direct commands, and in doing so, would make Everett face humiliation at every interaction.

Everett knew that this was a typical use of power play for his, but the sudden changing of species seemed a little far-fetched… although Everett doubted his father would answer any questions he had about this new role, given how ashamed he had looked, as Everett’s magic ability had been revealed as nought.

[etc.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading (and sorry for such subpar writing!!)
> 
> Next chapter is just the ideas I had jotted down for the next bit of the story.
> 
> Hope you're all doing okay.
> 
> Xx


	3. Very vague plans for the story

Trixie can’t heal Everett because Cassius told her ‘no healing him. I want him to look at those cuts as they heal slowly, and then look at them when they’re scars so that they remind him of his place in this household’ or whatever. So Trixie can’t heal him—however, she _can_ look after and take care of him. 

Also, to deal with Everett suddenly not being part of the family, the Braxtons planned to Obliviate everyone who had ever encountered or even heard of their youngest son, to save face, using a combination of _Imperio_ s, the magic version of Veritaserum, and _Avada Kedavra_ s (if need be).

Trixie assures him that ‘the work of a House Elf is actually very noble indeed, as the wizarding folk wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if they didn’t have the Elves around to help them,’ which Everett greedily accepts because he sees logic and reason in what Trixie’s telling him.

When Trixie finishes patching up his wounds, and gives him a big hug, as Everett’s always been kind to her and the other Elves of Braxton Manor behind his other family members’ backs, Everett tries to sit up (not that the ground is cold and hard, with only a thin blanket between him and the floor) and winces and nearly screams out at the pain, which he now notices, is all over his body.

Trixie encourages him to get up, telling him that Master Cassius would be most angry with Everettt if he didn’t ‘fulfill his noble duty’, as Trixie puts it. Everett manages to sit up, but not without using his stinging arm, which he tries to look at because he remembers his father slashing at it the night before, but Trixie stops him from looking at it, telling him ‘it won’t heal if you take the bandage off!’

He dubiously agrees to leave it because Trixie seems genuinely troubled about him seeing what’s under there, so he knows she has good intentions. He knows he’ll see it once it’s healed though, so Trixie and her good intentions won’t be able to keep him from looking at whatever it is forever.

Everett is aware that Trixie knows something he doesn’t about his wound, but lets it go at the look in her eyes.

And then he starts to cry.

Every breath hurts, every tear that falls stings mercilessly in his newly-healing wounds, and he breaks down. He had tried to put it out of his mind that his family, especially so, his father, hated him, and that he didn’t want to work; he just wanted to brew potions and people watch with his father; he wanted to play with his secret toy dragon, and he wanted to wear his polka-dot pyjamas and walk to the edge of the grounds where a family of snakes lived that he liked to watch grow.

Trixie tries to soothe him, and lets him cry about how sore he feels, and how sad he is about his father, and that he’ll come around, because he’s a clever-minded and logic-oriented man with good wits and a clever sense about him!

When he calms down, he asks to have a nap, and almost starts to drift off in Trixie’s arms when another Elf, Rilly, comes into the Elf quarters with the order that ‘House Elf’ (he scoffs) Everett must, in quarter of an hour, bring tea and biscuits to the sitting room for Master Cassius and Mistress Lilian, and that Master Cassius requested that Everett come alone.

Everett doesn’t know how to respond, so Trixie thanks Rilly, and turns back to Everett to convince him to stand up so he can get changed out of the rags that were once his clothes. She then offers him a new pillowcase, but at the sight Everett tears up again, because he wants to wear robes and be warm!

Trixie rushes back over to him, and asks, ‘doesn’t House Elf Everett want to play dress-ups?’ (which he had never before refused when she had offered before, when everyone else was asleep and Everett had just had a bad dream).

Everett somewhat perks up, but frowns at his new title because he liked just being called Everett or Evie, like she always called him whenever they were alone (she would only call him Master Everett when with company).

Trixie apologises for her slip-up, and agrees to uphold their old deal of ditching the titles and just going with names/nicknames. Everett makes her pinky promise, and she complies. Everett then smiles and agrees to play dress-ups, but tells her that he’s still very sore. Trixie casts another pain-dulling charm over him, and he says he feels a bit better, but still wished that he didn’t hurt at all.

Trixie tells him that he’ll be better in no time, if only he puts on the pillowcase, which he does, very gingerly, and with her help.

She then slowly leads him through a series of passageways that she tells him are between and behind the walls, and he oohs.

Once they arrive at the kitchens, Trixie glances at the permanent Tempus charm above the concealed doorway to the foyer. She then shows Everett where the Braxton elders’ preferred teacups are and tells him to get them and set them upon the bench. He does as told, and Trixie returns with a teapot of water. She then tells him that she’s been told to teach him how to do all the House Elf jobs in Braxton Manor, but that she would do the tea for him today because she acknowledged how sore he still was. Everett, however, wanted to distract himself from his soreness and his want to cry, and so spooned tea leaves into the teapot, telling Trixie that she’d shown him how to do this when he snuck into the kitchens for the fifth time, don’t you remember?

Trixie smiles at him and tells him that she knows, but he still has to be careful with this part because this is when she makes the water hot with a warming charm. Everett watches in wonder as steam starts to rise from the pot because that is like so cool, and he wishes he could do that too!

Trixie then tells him to get a tray from the leftmost cupboard, which he does, and she then sets the teacups and pot upon it, glancing at the Tempus again.

She then grips his hand gently, sending another pain dulling charm over him, and tells him that he’d better get going now, and bring his Masters (notice Masters and not the word parents) their tea. Everett grows sullen again, but Trixie pats him on his good cheek before picking the tray up and handing it to him.

Note that Everett hurts a lot while holding up the weight of the tray’s contents, but gives Trixie a determined nod, fighting back tears, and exits through the concealed door, on his way to the sitting room.

Once at the doorway, he listens for his parents, still concealed by the wall. He can hear his father reading his newspaper, and his mother doing her cross stitch. He takes a deep breath and rounds the corner, clearing his throat. He greets his mother and father, keeping a safe distance and treading towards them warily.

His father tilts down his newspaper and whispers harshly that Everett is no son of his, and as such does not have the honour of calling him father; he will from now on call him Master Cassius, and so on with the rest of the family.

Everett tears up again, placing the tray on the coffee table, and walks to his father, aware from the look in his father’s eyes, and his posture, that that is a Very Bad Idea, but goes through with it because he’s so desperate for confirmation that this was all a bad dream and his father really does love him.

But his father strikes him on the cheek when Everett is within distance, and Everett is forced to the ground with the impact. He then freely starts to cry, looking from his father to his mother, who he never looked to before since she has always been so horrible to him, but surely someone had to be on his side, right?

She stares him down, raising a threatening eyebrow.

Everett feels something break inside him.

His father tells him that that will be all, and that he may go now.

Everett pleadingly looks back at his father again, but Cassius just raises his paper again.

Everett leaves the room, crying.


End file.
